On the Deck of the Sinking World
by Lontano
Summary: AU. An eternity of watching the world from the shadows can make anyone a little desperate to interact with others. Even Death himself. So, one day, after an intriguing encounter, he gives in and decides to pay the living a visit. They were meant to be together, although the one he wants may need convincing of that fact. GxV, GhxV
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** : It feels strange to be writing DBZ again after ten years. Whoa.

**Warnings!** : AU. Human characters. Language, suicide, homicide, other questionable things. Death!Goku (:'D). A loose retelling of the German musical 'Elisabeth', which I highly recommend, by the way.

**Pairings** : Goku x Vejita, Gohan x Vejita.

I write mostly for myself, but I do enjoy reviews whenever they come along, but I promise I won't cry if you don't have time, nor will I nag. :D

VERY SLOW UPDATES.

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**On the Deck of the Sinking World**

**Chapter 1**

The first stage was denial.

Always, the moment he made himself known, it was met with denial.

'It's not my time!'

Yeah, yeah, he'd heard _that _one before. He'd heard it so many fuckin' times he couldn't even remember now how many. Same old.

The second stage was pleading.

'Please don't take me, I've got so much I still need to do!'

Alright, sure you do, everyone does. He'd been hearing that for millennia.

Move it along.

The third stage was anger.

And, well, there was never any set rule for that one, and he'd been called so many foul things that his repertoire of nasty words had started to outgrow his list of how many different ways of saying 'please don't kill me!' there were.

They all received their due kiss upon the lips at the end of the road, no matter how vociferous the walk down it was.

Think they'd be glad to be dead.

Life was too much work for too little reward, from what he had seen.

He had seen it all.

He was used to it all, too. That went without saying. He had been created solely for the job, so it was easy enough to do it, and do it damn well, but that didn't make it any less irritating.

For once, he just wished that something different would happen.

Something exciting.

Even _he _could get bored, and death had never really been much of a fun pastime.

Wailing, and all that whatnot, got old.

Hell, he was afraid that he was starting to smell like the old women he escorted across the way.

Outdated perfume and that aroma of powder and something else that didn't really have a name but that was incredibly overwhelming all the same.

Well, a job was a job.

Some aspects were prettier than others, and some duties were just downright miserable.

Royals, especially.

He was glad that the modern world had fewer royals than it had in years long since past.

They were usually the worst when it came to death.

Too much hassle, and too much bitching and moaning.

'But I'm the king!'

'Oh, well, let's move it, your majesty, I ain't got all day.'

'How dare you—'

How dare you.

He was Death, not some tired old manservant, and yet it seemed that they thought they were impervious to his presence all the same, having been told their entire lives that they were godly.

Yeah, right.

He _hated _royalty.

That was why he had heaved a great sigh and had set out begrudgingly to get that damn prince. The one that had been set to expire on a chilly fall night.

He hadn't been looking forward to it.

Who could've known that it wouldn't turn out like all the others had?

He had taken his time getting there, out of spite.

Princes—he hadn't even been much aware that there were any left. The world was changing, now, and monarchy was uncommon.

A rarity.

All the same, as much as he hadn't expected a prince, he hadn't expected him to be a child.

Tiny, so tiny, lying there in his bed, trembling as fever chills came and went.

Dark eyes stared out, unfocused and distant.

He had stood in the corner for a moment, watching people crowding and fussing as they tried to pull the sick child back from the brink of death, but it wasn't going to work, obviously, because Death had already gotten there.

A minute or so of watching the little child suffering in the throes of illness, and then he called him forward.

Something he had done on countless occasions.

The bedroom faded into a world of shadows.

No walls or ground or buildings.

Just grey and black.

Misty.

The child lied there for a moment, before he seemed to realize he had come back to consciousness.

He would always remember that messy, unruly hair, and those little feet.

"Hey, wake up," he called, gently, taking a step forward to make his presence known.

Time to go.

From now on, the child would walk in the shadows as much as he did.

Life had forsaken him.

"Get up."

Fighting off the fever that would claim his life at any moment, the child finally shook his head, gave a grunt, and pulled his arms underneath him.

A short moment, as he struggled to push himself upright.

Tough little guy.

"There you are," he said, as he stood before the little form below him.

He held out a helping hand.

It was dismissed.

Ignoring quite easily his wobbly legs, the child pulled himself to his feet, bangs sticking to his clammy forehead, and when he looked up, there was no fear in his dark eyes.

Curiosity, perhaps, but no fear.

He looked around, realized he was far away from where he should be, and his breathing quickened a bit.

He stood patiently still, and waited for the outburst.

Usually this young they cried for their parents and clung to his hand or leg.

Not this one.

A moment of staring, and then the child whispered, irritably, "Who are you?"

Ah, a question as old as time.

Taking a step forward, he knelt down, observing the child, and said, "Nobody. I'm just here to walk you home."

He had spoken to countless children, and was pretty damn good at that, too, and so it had certainly taken him aback when this child turned up his nose and swatted away his offered hand with a look of distaste.

"I can walk myself home, thank you very much. I didn't ask for your help. How dare you speak to me like this, without even declaring yourself."

And there it was!—how dare you.

Still, little kids weren't usually the ones who gave it to him.

Pulling himself up to his feet, he tilted his head a bit as he stared down at the uncomprehending child, and for the first time in a long, long time, he thought he felt a smile.

"Well, I still have to, whether you want me to or not."

At that, the child whirled around to face him, tottering a bit, and the look he gave then was alarmingly potent for such a tiny thing.

"I said I can walk myself! Go away! Who _are _you? What are you doing here, anyway? You're starting to get on my nerves! Go away!"

Oh, man.

"Look," he said, gently, as he tried to extend his hand again, "Just come with me, alright? You were very sick. Don't you remember?"

At that, the child's look of anger dulled a little, as he scrunched his brow in thought.

"Was I sick? Oh, yeah... That's right. I remember a little. Father was scared."

Poor thing—didn't even realize his little heart was seconds away from giving out.

"He _was_ scared, for you. He cried."

The child peered up at him, and then that look was back.

"Well, I don't care if I was sick or not, I'm better now, so I don't need you here!"

And he was sure of it then.

He was smiling.

"Is that so? Aren't you scared?"

A little chest puffed out, and the child, fever or not, retorted, quickly, "No!"

"All the same," he said, as he reached out to try and grab a hand instead of waiting for his own to be taken, "It's time to go. You have to come with me."

Somehow, the child avoided his probing grasp, and staggered back, still unsteady from the illness.

"I'm not going with you! You're crazy! I don't even know who you are."

Usually on these trips, he said, in a droll voice, 'I'm Death, and I'm here because you, so and so, are dead. Let's go.'

He didn't really know why he lingered this time.

Boredom, perhaps.

Maybe the child's fearlessness kept him engaged.

Billions he had taken, so many, and this was one of the very few times he could recall in which the first two stages had been skipped entirely to go straight into anger.

That it was a child, perhaps, made it all the more intriguing.

But still, time was time, and the kid had to go, sooner or later.

"If you don't come with me, I'll just take you by force, you know."

Still, the child was undaunted, and just snipped, "I'd like to see you try, mister!"

"Oh?"

He put his hands on his hips as he leaned down to bring himself a little closer to that piercing gaze, and he could smell the lingering aroma of fever, and underneath the scent of the child himself.

Why did all little kids smell like powder?

Funny, that the elderly had such a remarkably similar scent to children.

Such far ends of the spectrum.

"If I tell you who I am, will you come with me?"

A look-over, and then a crinkled nose.

"No."

"You like to be difficult, don't you?"

The child stomped his foot, growing increasingly agitated, and now there was the start of a whine in his voice as he cried, "_You're _being difficult! I didn't ask you to come here. I don't know you, so leave me alone!"

Frustration was starting to get the better of him, and it wasn't the sickness that made his voice so thick. Confused, and by now he was surely a little frightened, no matter how much he tried to square his shoulders.

Those dark eyes had gotten a little bleary.

"Go away," he said, again, and this time he turned his back to keep face.

And yet, even though he was struggling not to cry, he still struck the helping hand away again when it was placed upon his shoulder.

Stubborn.

"You don't know me," he began, as he knelt down, "But I know you. You're the prince, right? Vejita. I came here just to see you."

The child glanced at him, quickly.

"Why?"

"Because you were sick. Very sick." He used the most comforting voice he had, the one where the tone was so deep that most of the consonants were lost to the winds, but one that had served him well in the past. "I came all the way here to escort you, because of how sick you were. You have to go over the river, you know. Even if you don't want to. But if you want, I'll go all the way to the end with you. Alright? So...don't be scared."

A long silence, and then the tears that refused to be shed were evident in the child's eyes.

"Because I was sick? No way—I can get over that! There's no way a fever would...would..."

He trailed off, then, voice too thick to carry on, and the unspoken statement was all but obvious.

'Being sick couldn't have killed me.'

Sometimes life just wasn't fair.

No matter how strong you were.

"I'm sorry."

The child's eyes settled onto his own for a while, defiant yet even beyond the blur of tears, and he asked, again, "Who are you?"

"I have many names."

The question the child posed then caught him completely off guard.

"Well—which one's your favorite? So I know what to call you."

Such a question had never even been asked of him.

He must have looked dumb, as he knelt there on the ground trying to remember his own damn name, and he could feel the child's eyes trying to study his mind as he himself searched his memory.

So many.

What _was_ his favorite?

It came to him without him really being aware of it, and he heard himself utter, rather breathlessly, "Kakarotto. You can call me Kakarotto, if you want."

That name.

Centuries ago, an old woman had taken his arm with wonder, calling him Kakarotto over and over again, the name of her long-dead son, and even as he had tried to tell her that he wasn't Kakarotto, her smile of adoration had been too bright—he had given in, and let her call him that however many times she wanted to as he had walked her along.

It had felt nice, to be greeted in such a manner. As a son.

Comforting.

So let the child call him that, if he wanted to.

Finally, after a long moment of staring, the child took a great breath, and said, "Okay." And then he held out a tiny little hand, and for the first time since he had been created, he paused.

He had been trying to snatch that hand for a while, and now that it had been offered, he stopped.

Frozen.

He had never frozen up.

"Well?" the child pressed, "You said you were here to take me, so let's go. I'm not afraid. Of that river _or _you, Kakarotto."

Ha.

Of that, he had no doubt.

Still...

He hesitated.

The thought that squirmed into his head then was one he had never had, not since his birth, and it was one he should never have had at all.

One that might have been the end of him.

Kakarotto.

The child trilled the 'r'. Ha.

Well—just once. What harm could come from it?

What could go wrong?

Hadn't he been looking for something different? Maybe it was time to create it for himself rather than just waiting for it to come along.

Finally, he gave a sigh and grabbed the tiny hand within his own, and instead of leaning forward to kiss the child upon the lips, he kissed the hand instead.

Forbidden, what he was thinking.

"You know what? I think you really can beat that fever. I suppose if ever I doubted anyone, it wouldn't be you."

A gaze of wonder upon him, like the one he had loved from long ago from a delirious mother.

"So, if I let you go back, will you promise to pull through and live? You have to promise."

Without missing a beat, the stubborn child lifted up his chin and said, "Of course I will! It'll take more than some stupid fever to get me down!"

First, he had smiled.

This time, he laughed.

Such strange sensations.

"I'm sure! Alright, well... You promised. So, I'll let you go this time, okay?"

The child nodded his understanding, and their hands released each other.

Standing up to his full height, a rather pleasant squirm in his chest—_feelings_, ha, what quaint things—he took a step back into the shadows.

The child's eyes never left him, and right before he disappeared, he whispered, "But beware, prince—I let you live this time. There are no second chances in death. If I come for you again, it's for good. Understand?"

A slow nod.

"Good. Take care of yourself. Don't forget this chance I've given you."

"I won't."

"Alright, then. Goodbye."

Darkness, as he fled, and the child was spared.

A sacred law, broken.

He had never thought _he _would be the one who would end up breaking one.

He had been sure it would be his reckless brother, letting some two-bit sneak out of Hell and into Heaven with a few pleas and a couple of bribes.

Well.

It had to happen sooner or later.

What could he say? The child had gotten to him, some way or another, slinking his way into emotions he had forgotten he had.

Damn.

Felt like _he_ was a kid there, for a minute.

He retreated into ancient forests that he had haunted in times past, and walked silently amongst the huge trunks as he let his mind wander where it would.

Curious things, feelings.

Pleasant.

Death got old after a while.

Time to intrude on life a little bit.

Visit the living, instead of taking them.

Why not? He had earned it.

Besides, the child was his now.

Alive only for his grace and mercy.

Why couldn't he watch him, since it had been he who had born him for the second time?

Should he not have allowed himself some little reward for being so adept at his job since the dawn of mankind?

Ah, hell—he was gonna do it, whether it was alright or not.

Whenever he could spare a moment after that, and sometimes even when he couldn't, he found himself returning to that palace, and looking in through the windows.

He stayed in the shadows.

The child grew up, slowly but surely.

And he couldn't help but watch.

His one weakness.

Vejita's life was his own doing.

His masterpiece, perhaps, and if he was punished for letting it come to be at all then he was certain it would be worth it.

It had been so long since he had _felt_.

It was kinda nice.

Now he just needed to figure out _why _he watched.

Every so often, a thought would come into his mind, and he contemplated it.

The prince was growing to be rather handsome.

He had pretty feet.

For the first time in his existence, he wondered what it would be like if he were alive.

Excitement.

He hoped that, in all these years, he would be remembered, as he remembered the prince clearly from that one night.

Every day, he came back and watched Vejita breathe, even as he stripped the breath from so many others.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After an eternity of being around, why did these days suddenly feel so damn _long_?

Like he was dragging himself through the river water rather than leading others to it, and God, why the hell did he feel so frustrated?

He had never been so agitated, not ever, and he was especially irritated that he wasn't really focusing on his job much anymore—

"Hey."

—and he was certain that he was going to get in trouble for accidentally taking the wrong damn kid from that last family he had visited, although it certainly hadn't been intentional—

"Hey, you awake over there?

—and goddamn if his head hadn't started hurting, and he hadn't even known that he could feel pain at all, yet it still pounded like it was being cut up by shards of glass—

"Hey, there's somethin' really wrong with you, you know?"

—and damn, damn, damn, he just wanted to punch a wall, or, better yet, he wanted to punch his boss in the face and tell him that he was quitting, the threat of being dissolved or no, because he was sick and tired of being griped at—

"Ouch!"

He reached up reflexively to rub at his head, sending a narrowed glare over at his brother, who was leering down at him with a rather knowing expression as he came back from his daydreaming.

Didn't have to hit him, though.

Hurt like hell.

Oh. Well.

He _could _feel pain.

Figures.

"What do you want?" he muttered, as his brother took a seat beside of him on the overpass that looked above the end of the long river.

"Well, I noticed you were going off into lala land again, so I thought I'd snap you out of it before old Yemma noticed you were slackin' off. If he decides to get rid of you, then _I'm _next in line to be _you_, and I'm not looking forward to that. So. Don't you have souls to reap or something?"

Still frustrated for whatever reason, he shot back, "Don't _you _have a gate to be keeping an eye on? I think Yemma's gonna be angrier about a demon sneaking up into Heaven than he will be about some late souls. He can't even keep up his appointments anyway."

His brother, smiling in that arrogant fashion, flipped his great mane over his shoulder and just quipped, "Nah. I always catch 'em before they get too far, anyway. And don't let Yemma hear you sayin' that shit. He'll drown you himself."

Ugh.

Raditz got his nerves like no one else.

His damn brother.

Brother. What a generous expression.

They had been created at different times for different functions, but they had still been intended to be brothers, although sometimes he didn't feel particularly inclined to refer to Raditz by the term.

"You've been really out of it, lately."

"Yeah, and you're _always _out of it."

Raditz laughed.

"Maybe, but you'd be looking for an escape too if you had to stand in the same spot for eternity to bitch at everyone that comes by and try to explain to them why they're in Hell in the first place."

He scoffed.

But Raditz, looking for an excuse to irritate him, skittered sideways like a horrible spider and leaned in with a high brow.

"And besides, there's also the matter of where you've been disappearing to instead of keeping your poor brother company."

"I haven't been disappearing. I've been busy."

Yeah, busy stalking, alright.

That palace.

A prince.

"Bullshit!"

He _was _bullshitting. Raditz called it.

Damn.

A little squirm of unease in his chest, and he sent Raditz a foul look.

"Mind your business, won't you?"

"And then there's the fact that you insist on everyone calling you Kakarotto nowadays."

He was sure, then, that he actually felt a flush upon his pale face.

So what?

Was it wrong to want a name? Raditz had one.

And speaking of which, how come Raditz had gotten a name, anyway? So Yemma would have something to call him whenever he needed to bitch at him instead of screaming at 'the big guy at the Hell gate'?

What was wrong with 'gatekeeper'?

That hadn't been fair. Not fair at all.

Well, then again, there were two gatekeepers, so perhaps a name had been required. His own function had been simple enough, he supposed, that a name had been unnecessary.

Death.

He was Death.

That was his name, always had been, and he had always gone by that moniker, so he wasn't really certain why, these past few years, he had started referring to himself as Kakarotto.

He had never had a name, and hadn't ever desired one.

But Vejita had called him Kakarotto, that night.

Afterwards, having a name had suddenly seemed much more important.

He liked to think of himself as Kakarotto now.

Raditz had a name, so why couldn't he?

"What's so wrong with wanting a name?" he finally muttered, as Raditz looked him up and down, and he could feel that relentless gaze starting to grate his nerves.

"You never cared before."

"So?"

No matter how much he tried to scoot away, Raditz continued to close the distance between them, refusing to let him squirm out of this that easily.

"I think I know what your problem is."

"Oh?"

Raditz lifted up his chin, then, a picture of self-confidence, and he said, firmly, "I'm not stupid, you know! That's _your _job. I know you've fallen in love. Don't bother trying to deny it."

"I—"

He stopped short, losing his retort, and knew he must have looked confused as the phrase actually sank in.

"I've fallen in _love_?"

Raditz stared at him for a moment, probing, and then he sighed and shook his head.

"You've been walkin' around in that little shadow world of yours for _way _too long. I think it's messed up your head. You mean you haven't even noticed it? What the hell have you been doing all this time? You've been slacking off to go see some mortal, right? Or it better be a mortal, anyway, because if you try to tell me that you've got a little crush on Brolly, I'm gonna bail because I do _not _want to be around to pick up whatever's left of ya."

He nearly shuddered at the concept.

And nothing made _him _shudder.

Except for the thought of ever wanting Brolly like that, or, perhaps more truthfully, the thought of what the Heaven's gatekeeper would do to him if he thought that it were true.

A notion not quite even fathomable.

Well, if Death could ever be ripped limb from limb, Brolly was the one who would be able to do it.

He still didn't know why the hell that crazy son of a bitch hated him _so _much, but, oh damn, did he ever hate him. It didn't even make any sense. Brolly was the sweetest little thing around Raditz, going along with whatever unholy strings his brother pulled, sure, but set _him _in Brolly's sights and it was like Raditz had just unleashed the gates of Hell right in front of him.

Crazy.

"I haven't been in love since the beginning. What makes you think I am now?"

Raditz looked as though for a moment he wouldn't even dignify him with a response, but then he just shook his head again, saying, "I just listed everything, didn't I? It's a real shame for me to know you're in love before you even do. Why did you think you've been zoning out for the past fifteen years? Surely you thought it strange that you've been stalking someone with no reason to. You're an _idiot_. You really are."

Ouch.

That time his pride was the one to hurt.

Before he could open his mouth in his defense, Raditz had grown all the more obnoxious and added, "I bet you haven't even made yourself known all this time, have you? You're too lame. You've probably been standing outside of windows and staring in like a creep from the shadows. Puttin' weird little handprints on the glass. Ugh."

Ah.

How embarrassing.

All those days and nights he had stood there outside of the palace window, peering in to watch as Vejita grew up a little more each time he looked, making sure he stayed well in his little world of darkness as he did so, and maybe he had put his hand up a few times here and there...

"Well, actually—"

"I knew it."

"Well!" he cried, frustration peaking, "What am I supposed to do, huh? I just thought he was interesting, was all. I like to watch him from the windows, so what? That doesn't mean anything."

Raditz hissed air through his teeth as he rolled his eyes.

"_Idiot_."

So he had been watching the prince for years. He didn't see what the big deal was.

...though it did occur to him that whenever his mind seemed to wander, it usually wandered straight back to Vejita, but that wasn't so abnormal, was it?

He had spared him, after all.

The only time he had ever let any mortal cheat death, so of course a little curiosity was healthy.

Vejita had been a fascinating child, and was even more fascinating now that he was a man. Perhaps he had a short-fuse, but he had exhibited that he had met Kakarotto for the first time, and maybe he was an expert at hiding what he was really feeling so that he could snipe hurtful words instead, but those traits somehow made him all the more appealing.

He had watched Vejita grow, even if the prince hadn't been aware of it, so it was natural he had become attached.

Although attachment was forbidden.

Damn—every excuse he came up with only made his hole deeper and deeper.

So maybe attachment had turned into attraction.

Vejita was handsome and witty, not particularly nice unless he felt so inclined to be, and sometimes he was downright ruthless and aimed for the throat, yet he wasn't a bad person.

Not someone that would be sent straight to Brolly's gate without a good long look-over, perhaps, but not a horrible being.

Vejita spent most of the day looking down upon the world around him, but when he slept he was nothing short of breathtaking. Pretty eyes, too, almond-shaped, and his nose was nothing less than the distinction of royalty. The lightest shade of caramel when it came to his skin.

Auburn hair.

Active and self-aware, smart, not afraid to do what he wanted whether he should have or not.

And oh, man, did he have the most enthrallingly addictive baritone—

"You're doing it again."

He started upright, brow falling down in agitation, and sent Raditz a half-hearted glare.

Alright.

Maybe he had fallen into the curious thing that immortals and mortals alike called love.

"What do you suggest I do about it, then?" he asked, seeking a little wisdom from his brother.

"Well, why don't you pay him a visit, huh? Maybe that'll wake you up a little. I'm tired of you drifting around like a damn ghost. You're Death, sure, but that doesn't mean you have to act like it. Next you'll be wearing a cloak and rattling chains in one hand and holding a scythe in the other. Go say hello, why don't you? Or," he added, as an afterthought, "You could just go ahead and kiss him. I bet Yemma would let you have one little soul. Surely. Then you can take him with you wherever you want." Raditz sighed, and looked over at him with a wink. "Then you'll really abandon me for good, huh?"

Visit.

He put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully, and then drawled, "I don't know... I don't think he'll be too keen on dying. He's...well..."

What was the right word?

"He's kind of ill-tempered."

Feisty might have been better. Stubborn.

"Yeah, you would go for that type."

"You're one to talk! Besides," he grumbled, as he rested his folded arms on his knees, "He doesn't even know I've been watching him. He's not gonna just come with me right off. He'll probably try to deck me one right in the nose if I pop up in his bedroom out of nowhere, and I don't wanna _think_ about what he'd do if I tried to kiss him."

Especially since a kiss meant instant death.

"So go woo him," Raditz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe, and he looked up through his bangs, eyes wide.

"Wha—what?"

"You heard me. God, do I have to do everything for you? Go declare yourself to him, and then go and see him whenever you want. After a while, he'll come around. Do that dashing mystery man thing. They go crazy for that."

Raditz sent him a scrutinizing gaze.

"It's not like you're hideous or anything. I mean"—another flip of that hair—"you'll never be as handsome as me, of course, but I think you oughta surpass any reasonable standards—"

Blah, blah, blah.

He filtered the rest of his brother's words into white noise, perched his chin in his palm, and turned his eyes back down to the gently flowing river.

Go see him, huh?

Sure would be nice to talk to Vejita again, he wouldn't lie. To be able to interact with him instead of just watching from the shadows would be a welcome development.

Better than pining away and letting his work suffer for it.

These past years had been dragging by like no others.

He had given the prince a chance to survive, and it was suddenly as if by doing so he had been drained of his own desire to live (although living, in his terms, wasn't quite the same).

He felt tired. Distant.

Hell, for a few moments here and there over the years, he had almost wished (although he would never admit it) that he were a mortal.

Everyone in the other world had already thought he was messed up in the head, a little dumb maybe, and to be so out of it now was surely making them think it all the more. If this kept up, Yemma might just replace him with a new reaper.

What a mess.

If he had known back then that it would have such an effect on him, perhaps he would have just taken the child as he was meant to.

But, damn, it had been too tempting.

He remembered going back a few days after the fact, standing there in the corner of the bedroom, oblivious to human eyes, and watching as the child's fever finally broke and he sat up for the first time, sweating with exertion and yet looking so proud of himself.

Kakarotto had smiled, then.

Vejita had kept his promise to pull through, through sheer will-power, and _he _had started calling himself Kakarotto.

Not a coincidence.

Getting to know Vejita, after that, had always been an interesting endeavor.

He wasn't a mind-reader, of course, and he would never know what was really going on inside the prince's head, but it was easy to understand him when he had the luxury of watching without Vejita knowing that he was even there at all.

Even as a child Vejita had been hard-headed and rather single-minded, proud and dignified if not a little abrasive, but that was what had made him so interesting.

That Vejita was a prince was another quirk that had snagged him.

Ancient kingdoms and monarchs weren't much longer for this time, and it was a little fascinating to watch Vejita growing up in a court and a society that probably wouldn't be there anymore by the time he was old.

Vejita and his father were becoming novelties, but you wouldn't have known it by looking at them.

Their world was crumbling beneath their feet, and yet still they stood strong, even as the tide began to swing the other way and wars threatened their kingdom.

Vejita may have unknowingly been the last of their line.

Time would tell.

For now, such a worry was for the king, not for the prince.

Vejita was young and rather wild, not particularly concerned of the state of his union as much as he was about sneaking away from it.

How many times had Kakarotto stood outside the window and watched as Vejita slunk through it, so close that they nearly brushed each other, to escape into the outside world for a while?

Vejita seemed far more interested in wandering outside the palace than he was on learning how to run it when the time came, although he had certainly inherited the innate ability to do so.

Maybe Vejita knew it, arrogant as he was.

Kakarotto had always found him curious.

He couldn't remember the exact day that curiosity and affection had turned into something else.

Maybe it had been the time he had gone a good year or so without seeing Vejita at all.

He had visited him one day, when the prince was still lanky and his face still coated in baby-fat, and then he had left, for a while, trying to reaffirm his dedication to his job. For all the good it had done. When he had returned, it had been nearly astounding.

Vejita had grown.

Taller, although not by very much, wider in the shoulders and broader across the chest, he had come into adolescence with a rather handsome leap. A chubby face had become angular and refined, high cheekbones visible, and he had chopped off his bangs, revealing a distinguished forehead.

Still had that petite stature and those tiny feet though.

That might have been when Kakarotto had started to contemplate what it would be like to be a mortal.

Or, rather, what it would be like for Vejita to look upon him as a man.

He wondered if they would have gotten along. That one night they had interacted had made him think that they would, although head-butting might have been a frequent thing between them.

All the better.

He liked a little arguing from time to time. Made him feel engaged and in charge.

An eternity of dealing with moaning dead people might have made him that way.

A sudden tap on his shoulder.

"So, you goin' to tell me his name or what?"

Raditz was staring at him, brow high and questioning, and for a moment, Kakarotto had almost intended to answer him until a movement from behind caught his eye.

A moment of shock, and then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up on end.

Brolly was striding towards them, a struggling demon caught up in his grasp.

He didn't look happy, either.

Fuckin' Raditz, so busy trying to get into other people's business that he couldn't even keep his attention focused on his damn gate.

Brolly would blame _him_, of course.

He was always looking for an excuse to rip his head off.

"Hey, _you_—"

Bolting upright, he sent Raditz a quick look and said, thinly, "Gotta go!" and then, in a flash of shadows, he vanished.

"Wait!"

Too late.

He was long gone.

A whirling of darkness and mist, and he reappeared far away from harm.

Escaping an angry gatekeeper for now, he felt his feet touch down gently on a stone hall he knew well, and heaved a sigh.

He wasn't _afraid _of Brolly. He would just rather avoid being maimed when it wasn't necessary, was all.

Well, that aside...

He raised up his head in the pale sunlight coming in through the window, and observed the world down below. Well-dressed people coming and going, holding conversations as they passed obliviously by him. Paintings all over the walls. Polished marble on the floor. Pretty trees and flowers adorning the yards outside.

He'd come to this side of the world so often now that he knew every feature.

This old palace.

From this spot in the grand hallway, he had a good look at the grounds, and could keep an eye on things as he saw fit.

He had always liked coming here.

Raditz had told him to visit, hadn't he, so this time he didn't feel so bad about showing up in this familiar place.

He wondered what Vejita was up to.

Ha. Probably nothing the court would have been particularly pleased with.

Taking a step forward, gliding straight past so many people and yet being seen by none, he wandered about, gathering his mind and his nerves to do what his brother had suggested he do.

He shouldn't have been nervous.

He should have been impervious to such a feeling.

Although, to be fair, perhaps he should have been impervious to love as well.

Sure as hell didn't keep his heart from pounding like crazy as he tried to plan his words out in his head.

What could you say to a man you knew so well but were a complete stranger to?

He supposed he would do what he always did when the situation was too difficult or too unpredictable.

Just wing it.

What was the worst Vejita could do him?

Kill him?

Hardly.

As he weaved through halls and corridors, his chest was burning with an excitement that not even an angry Brolly himself could have dulled.

For the first time in existence, he was going to show himself to a person that was not dying.

If he knew Vejita as well as he thought he did, then he was going to be making himself known quite a bit, because Vejita was not the type who would give him anything easily or quickly.

He would have to work for it.

He liked that, too.

It would only make it more satisfying in the end.

Showtime.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N : **Thanks for reading! :D

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Hurry up! You're too slow, you're gonna get us caught!"

Panting and huffing.

"You're too _fast_! Slow down!"

Two figures were tearing through marble hallways, reaching out to grab corners to keep their balance as they slung themselves along, although the bigger of the duo was having trouble keeping up.

Vejita was usually torn between adoring Nappa as one adores a dog and the urge to take him out back and put him down.

Lummox.

He had to stop, at the entrance to the stairwell, and wait for Nappa to catch up to him.

And then he had to stop _again _at the top of the stairs, as Nappa lugged himself along, coming to a heaving halt halfway there to put his hands on his knees as sweat dripped down from his brow.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been too hard on him—Nappa was gettin' older.

It was natural he couldn't keep up now as he had when Vejita had been smaller.

All the same...

"If father catches me because of you, I swear I'll kill you tonight."

Nappa, panting and huffing, gave a beleaguered groan and grabbed the railing to pull himself up.

"Prince," he heaved, in between steps, "Don't you think...you should just...stay put today? Your father...is really losing his patience...with me."

A pause, as Nappa gasped for breath.

Still, he reached the top of the stairs nonetheless.

Vejita stared at him with crossed arms and asked, simply, "Who do you like spending your time with more? Because if you want my father to saddle you with a briefcase full of papers and send you off to the other side of the country like he did like time to try and negotiate—"

"Alright, alright," Nappa grumbled, irritably, and, satisfied that he had put his guardian in place, Vejita carried on his flight through the halls.

It wasn't that he wanted to make his father angry.

He just couldn't stand to be stuck inside the palace all day.

It felt like he was drowning.

Diplomacy and politics were fun, they really were, and he loved being the prince, but that didn't mean he could spend every waking moment of his life breathing it all like his old man did.

He would rather skip all of his classes than suffering through matter he already understood and probably could have taught a class on himself.

Everything he needed to know about ruling he had learned from his father.

Why was all of the rest necessary?

He stuck his head around a corner, peering out to make sure the coast was clear, and then he reached back with a hand and ushered Nappa forward.

"Let's go."

Nappa sent him a weary look, but stood up straight and was prepared to follow him wherever he went.

He liked that about Nappa. No matter how annoying he could be.

Vejita raised his foot in the air, and bolted forward.

Not fast enough.

They all but skidded to a halt, wide-eyed and breathless, and at the sight of his father, Vejita immediately straightened himself up straight as an arrow and pursed his lips.

Where the hell had _he_ come from?

Oh, shit.

His father stared at him for a moment through narrowed eyes, and then he lifted up his steely gaze to Nappa and asked, carefully, "Nappa, care to explain why my son has missed every one of his classes today?"

Nappa, far less composed than his charge, opened his mouth and sputtered, "Ehrm! Ah... Well, you see—"

Seconds of fumbling, and with every one the king's brow fell lower and lower.

Finally, seeing the big oaf grasping for straws, Vejita broke his attention and said, simply, "I was eluding him. He finally saw me and was trying to catch me." He shot Nappa a rather dirty look from the corner of his eye and added, under his breath, "For all the good it does, slow as he is."

The glare clearly added, 'And he'll pay for it later.'

Nappa's cheeks mottled, and he kept his stance stiff.

After a tense moment, the king twitched his head, and Nappa took the hint and disappeared down the hall.

Lucky bastard.

There was a long, awkward silence, as father and son stared at each other, and then there was a deep sigh and the king's shoulders dropped.

"You're trying to kill me of a heart attack now. I'm certain of it. There are easier ways to do me in, and much kinder ones than murdering me slowly with your antics."

Vejita couldn't help but feel a little squirm of shame, but refused to show it, and just shrugged a shoulder.

His father gave him a long, hard stare, and then shook his head.

"Since you've had so much free time on your hands, I trust you've been thinking about who you're going to marry."

Marry.

For a moment there, Vejita had almost said something nasty, but he bit his tongue at the last second.

He loved his father. Adored him, actually, and he would have done anything for him.

Well—almost anything.

So it hurt a little, to see him looking so disappointed, but it hurt more to think of giving up his freedom once and for all and be tied down for good to the kingdom.

His father knew it. Why did he press?

"Son, I know that it's hard for you, but you have to choose someone. You're always running off, so perhaps you haven't noticed that the kingdom isn't exactly operating at full-steam. If you don't marry, it will more than likely be the end of us. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not," he spat back, tone rather hostile, and even though that was true he still couldn't shake the feeling of suffocation.

Unfairness.

It wasn't _his _fault the kingdom was failing; why should he be the one who had to fix it?

An offer of his freedom for the kingdom's stability.

"Then, you know the solution. I don't understand why you've been putting this off for so long. It's going to happen sooner or later, only that _later_ we might not be around for it to even matter. Time is an issue, son."

Vejita stared straight ahead, and didn't speak.

Silence.

Inside, he wanted to rip the kingdom apart.

Crash it and burn it just because he could.

Instead, he stood submissively still before his father, and kept his stance one of respect.

He wished, sometimes, that his father understood him more.

"Here," the king finally said, as he forced a folder into his son's hands, "A new one. Probably the last one you'll get. Your record of humiliating suitors precedes you, so I suggest you take this one into a little more consideration."

Not a suggestion so much as a threat.

He glowered down at the folder, and his father had suddenly put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"And please stop running around. I worry about you. You're going to end up hurting yourself around all these staircases and windows. I almost lost you once. I don't want that to happen again."

Spoken like a true father.

He loved his father, for it all, so he nodded his head, and turned around to walk off to his room.

As soon as his father was out of sight, his stride became more of a stalk, and he lowered his head to mutter bitter things under his breath.

He hated this.

All of it.

He understood his father's worries and his protectiveness, but that didn't make it any less frustrating or any less smothering.

Nappa told him to be patient, and to be grateful that his father adored him so much, and he was. He was.

Because his father _had _almost lost him once.

Death.

To most, a far off dread.

To him, a thing of the past.

He had escaped death by a hair.

Or so he had been told.

He didn't remember the illness, neither his father's hysterics nor his being all but dead, but there was _something _he recalled if he really thought about it, although perhaps it had just been a dream brought on by the fever. A hallucination.

A man.

Those old tall, dark, handsome types that he read about from time to time.

Why he remembered that, he couldn't say, but it was there all the same.

He could picture the strange man better at some times than others, when the memory came about more clearly as memories were want to do.

Usually, as he lied in bed at night, contemplating, it would come to him, if only through a word floating through his head or a whiff of a scent that was annoyingly familiar.

Sometimes, in the evening, he would cast his eyes over to shifting shadows, and a voice would drift around in his head, even if the words were too garbled to grasp.

Probably nothing.

He had been so sick that it was possible all of it had been nothing more than his brain firing off too much. After all, they said that nearly dying was a strange experience.

At any rate, the man who may or may not have been real was hardly a concern in comparison to a very real, and very overbearing, father.

That damn fever had affected his life more than it should have, if only by making his father so protective that it was overwhelming.

The intent was to shelter; the effect was the opposite.

His father's over-protectiveness made him all the more restless.

He couldn't stand to be tied down in one place, stuck in this rut as the world outside whirred on by without him.

He found himself standing in front of his room all of a sudden, and he pulled open the door, slamming it behind him a little harder than he had meant to.

He needed to get out of here.

Tossing the folder down on his desk without so much as a glance, he wandered over to the window and rested his elbows upon the sill, heaving a sigh as he stared out.

Even his window was blocked to the outside world, by gates and trees.

Trapped.

He didn't know how long he stood there, hours maybe, but the sun had lowered down behind the tree line when his father come into his room.

Couldn't he knock?

Instead of turning around to say, 'What do you want?' as he felt he deserved to, he just stood there, and waited for his father to speak.

The king did, like always.

"Have you had time to look it over?"

He must have seen the folder lying forlorn there upon the desk; why bother asking?

Still, Vejita just said, "Not yet."

"You're wasting time."

"Mm."

Steps on the floor, and the shuffle as his father grabbed the folder and trekked over to him. A hand gripped his upper arm and whirled him around, and his father had shoved those damn papers back onto him.

"This is the last one," the king said, in a firm voice of finality. "The. Last. One. You hear? If this doesn't pan out, then it's back to that old list again, and I doubt most of them are going to be keen to be rejected a second time. You've put me in quite the spot, you know?"

Irritable and endlessly frustrated, Vejita broke away and turned his back on his father to hide his rage, hissing, "You've put _me _in quite the _spot_! I'm to be forced to go through this all over again! How much longer do you intend on tormenting me?"

He could only stay silent for so long.

"You're the one tormenting yourself. This could have been over long ago."

"Go away! Leave me alone. When will you stop bothering me about this?"

He couldn't see, but he could certainly hear the anger in his father's voice as he cried, "Until you choose someone!"

The door slammed.

He was alone.

His intention then had been to tear the folder in half and then break the nearest thing he could get his hands on, but when he had pulled the folder upwards, a movement at his side drew his attention.

The corner of his room, already bathed in shadows from the approaching night.

Nothing there.

Huh.

He turned his gaze back to the obstacle in his hands, and yet, again, a shift.

Reflexively, he glanced again towards those shadows.

He could swear that he had seen movement within them, yet there was nothing.

The curtain fluttered, a little.

A twinge of unease, and the desire to rip things apart ebbed down.

Now he was seeing things.

Great. Just what he needed.

A creak behind him, and he jumped a little as he whirled around.

The window had come open.

He turned his back to the corner of seemingly shifting shadows, and took a step with the intent to shut the unruly window.

He didn't even have time to reach it before he was interrupted.

A soft, smooth whisper came wafting to him from the shadows that he had been certain were vacant.

"Don't be too angry with him. He loves you."

A terrible moment of fright paralyzed him, but it passed, and he gathered himself before turning to face what was clearly an intruder.

He'd had people sneak into his bedroom before, and each of them had met with a very unpleasant experience, all the more after his father had gotten them when he had finished.

He was prepared to give this one a what for he would never forget.

Yet, he somehow found himself freezing still when he actually observed the unwelcome guest.

A tidal wave of familiarity that he couldn't quite place.

That man.

Tall and broad, he stood there in what had previously been empty space, basking in the shadows with a pleasant smile that was directed at Vejita.

Unease grew.

The man took a step towards him, and yet his feet made no sound as they touched the floor.

Vejita wasn't sure what it was that kept him still and silent, then, but it nothing that he particularly enjoyed, nor was the nagging sense that he had seen this man before.

Skin pale and smooth, hair blacker than night and sticking out in a rather untidy manner, big eyes and thick lashes, he had an air about him that was somehow gentle and absolutely terrifying at the same time.

Big hands.

Another silent step forward, and the man had come out of the shadows and into better view, and he was all the more entrancing for it.

It was as if the room had suddenly been cast into a dream.

He felt rather mellow; sleepy.

Vejita didn't even realize that he was clutching the folder to his chest until the smoldering eyes fell upon it.

"It's a shame, though, to have your hand forced."

Oh, God, maybe he was goin' crazy—they had told him that the fever had left a scar on his brain, hadn't they?

He shook his head as if to clear it, but when he opened his eyes again, the apparition was still there.

Those eyes.

He could swear he had seen them before.

The man took another step forward, drawing ever closer, and then there was a scent. Dark and musty, woodsy.

Familiar.

Those indescribable eyes locked onto his own, and there was another smooth whisper.

"Who am I?"

A question _he_ should have been asking, not the other way around, but still he actually found himself contemplating it, although it didn't feel as if it were a voluntary reaction.

A name came to him from the depths of his subconscious, but even as he spoke it aloud he wasn't sure that it meant anything.

"Kakarotto."

Kakarotto? Where had that come from?

...it was right there, right _there_, and yet he couldn't grasp it.

The man broke into an alarmingly handsome smile, then, and took another step forward.

"You remembered."

The comforting aroma grew stronger with every inch nearer he drew.

Hypnotic.

He didn't like it—that lulling and drifting and the dulling of his senses.

As if he was being lured from the real world.

Forcing himself awake, he shook his head again, once, and straightened himself up.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The man tilted his head, a pleasant expression upon his face, gentle and calm, and he said in a lower tone, "As you said, I'm Kakarotto. I just came to visit. Is that alright?"

His immediate response would have been, 'No, it's not!' and yet something held his tongue.

Wariness.

"You've really grown since the last time we spoke. Do you remember?"

A little, come to think, bits and pieces.

Not a complete memory.

His look must have said it all, for the man—Kakarotto, apparently—just tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled again, saying, rather breezily, "Ah, that's alright. You were so little. I'm not surprised you don't remember much. But you remembered my name, huh? I'm glad."

"I don't know you."

Another step forward.

"I know _you_. I've been watching you for a long time."

He could feel himself raising up the papers defensively, in perhaps some strange attempt at creating a shield between them.

"Watching me?" he sputtered, angrily, "You—"

"How dare I, right?"

A cool laugh.

"I know almost everything about you, you know. Don't you remember? We met a long time ago. Well, it was long ago for you."

His agitation was rising, and so was his temper.

"That's great," he said, as his eyes raked around for an exit. "Don't you have something pressing to attend to? Go bother someone else. I'm busy."

The man looked down at him with a high brow, as if he had said something amusing.

Was this some kind of joke?

Maybe his father had hired some weirdo to follow him around and keep an eye on him.

That made more sense that whatever else he was contemplating.

The idea of it, and the betrayal it brought up, made him bristle, and he took a bold stalking step toward the intruder in an attempt to bluff him off.

Didn't work.

The son of a bitch stood completely still, and gave up no ground to him.

Well. Trying to intimidate him wasn't going to work, so he sniped instead.

"Who do you think you are? If my father sent you to keep watch over me—"

"No," was the swift interruption. "I came here on my own."

Oh, damn—now his head was starting to hurt.

"Well! Then, get out of my room! Who are you? How dare you come in here like this! Get out of here before you regret it."

That charming smile was really starting to get to him.

In a bad way.

But Kakarotto, whoever he was, leaned in, hands still in his pockets, and he ignored the threat to say, "You know me. You've got a lot of scars, don't you?"

His arms flew up of their own accord, crossing above his chest in a rush of embarrassment.

Kakarotto carried on before he could start screaming.

"It's not what you think. I haven't been watching you undress or anything, I promise. I've just been around to see you accumulate quite a bit of them. You've got a deep one on your back, when you fell the time you tried to climb down from the window. And you took a tumble down the stairs when you were eight, right? You've got a scar on your knee from that one, and you broke your arm. You should be more careful. Your father worries about you."

Anger turned into complete confusion.

Helplessness.

"How could you... I haven't seen you anywhere. How could you have been watching me for so long without me noticing you?"

How, indeed.

He felt exposed. Trapped.

Vulnerable.

Feelings he hated more than any others.

And the infuriating man just kept on smiling.

"I didn't let you see me before. I chose to show myself now, so you would know me. You were a child when we first met, so I thought it was time to visit you again. Here. I'll show you."

Before he could react, the man had reached out, and grabbed his hand.

Just like that, it was as if he was five years old again, and that same man had knelt down next to him with that same smile as he had tried to walk him across a river.

The memory returned, in one great rush that forced him to inhale so sharply his lungs burned.

Pleas and gentle words.

Shadows.

Lips upon his hand.

A promise.

He remembered.

Kakarotto.

No, not Kakarotto.

Death.

He felt himself taking a step back, snatching his hand away from a cooler one, and said, quickly, "I'm—I'm not sick this time! You have no need to come here, I'm fine. I'm not dying today, thank you very much."

Kakarotto's smooth smile stayed put, and he took another step forward, so close now that Vejita could feel the chilly breath on his forehead.

"I didn't say I was coming to take you, did I? I said I came to visit."

Vejita started to look around for an escape again, before it occurred to him that there was hardly any point.

How could you outrun such a thing as death?

He had no choice but to do what he always did when he was vulnerable and in a dangerous position; he squared his shoulders, braced his feet, and puffed his chest to make himself look as big as possible.

For all the good it did.

"You visited," he began, tensely, "So you can go now, please. It was nice to meet you again, thanks for not taking me, the door is over there. I have something to attend to."

Kakarotto arched up his brow, and now his smile exposed his canines as his eyes squinted a little.

A picture of happiness.

Vejita wanted nothing more than to punch him right in the nose.

Tempting.

"Please and thank you all at once! In all the years I've watched you I don't think I've ever seen anyone get both at the same time. You must be frightened."

"I'm not," he lied.

"I'm sure."

He hated being humored, too, come to think.

It seemed as if Kakarotto was some kind of unholy amalgamation of everything he detested.

Figures; he would be stalked by such an annoying being.

They stood there for a moment, looking each other up and down, and then Kakarotto spoke again.

His voice was softer now.

"I see that you're being forced to marry."

"Hardly a concern of yours," Vejita griped, although the urge had come up for a second there to take the opportunity to vent.

No one else around here listened to him except for Nappa, and Nappa was too dense to take all of it to heart and too senseless to trust with most of it.

Kakarotto nodded his head in agreement, but kept blabbering all the same.

"Indeed, it isn't. But you seemed so frustrated," he murmured, voice far too close to his ear for his liking. "I came to see if you wanted to alleviate the situation a little."

Alleviate it?

"How?"

"Simple!" came the cheerful response, and a cool hand grabbed his chin. "You could always come with me. You wouldn't have to deal with all of this hassle anymore. Life is overrated. You can come with me instead. That will give you the freedom from the kingdom that you want, right? After all, you can't be betrothed if you're dead."

A frightening moment of serenity that was not voluntary, and Vejita stood frozen, feeling rather entranced as Kakarotto's other hand took the folder neatly from his lax fingers.

Couldn't move all of a sudden.

"I've been watching you for so long, and yet you've never looked happy here. Why don't you just come with me?"

Should that prospect have been tempting?

He felt as if a fog had settled in his mind.

"Well, what do you say? As you said, you're not sick. You have to give your consent for me to take you now. So, what will you do? Marriage or death? I can promise that death is far more interesting, and far less stressful."

When had this presumptuous son of a bitch gotten closer?

Their noses had nearly bumped into each other for a second there.

The smell of Kakarotto was entrancing.

Marriage or death.

They had seemed so similar these past few months...

"Let me take you. I'll solve all of these problems for you."

Somehow, those words roused him.

_For_ him?

The audacity! As if he needed someone else to step in.

He was no goddamn damsel in distress, sitting up in the tower waiting for the knight to come to the rescue.

A few inconveniences here and there, a few arguments and a few unpleasantries—nothing he couldn't handle.

Did Kakarotto just expect him to up and die so easily? Another passenger in the ferry?

Ha—nice try.

He started as if from sleep, Kakarotto's spell over him efficiently broken, and he slapped the hand away from his chin with a scoff of resentment.

"Don't presume to think that I'll just lie down like a dog because of something as meaningless as a betrothal and an unpleasant round of court duties! You think I would give up so easily? What, did you think I needed _you _to come save me from it? You're playing hero to the wrong person! Go back to hell or wherever it is you came from. I have no need of you here."

It crossed his mind the second that he said it that it was, perhaps, not very wise to get on the bad side of Death himself, but he had always had a problem controlling his temper.

A moment of nervousness, as his veins pulsed with adrenaline.

But Kakarotto wasn't angry.

He was _laughing_.

Vejita pursed his lips as his ire rose.

What a jerk.

"Oh, no, I really didn't think you would give in to me that easily! If you somehow warded me off as a child, then I had hardly let myself think you would really come with me now."

A wide, charming smile.

"I like speaking to you, though. I like that you're not afraid of me. I like how angry you get. It makes you look more handsome, you know. When you get mad."

He felt an unpleasant rush of warmth on his cheeks.

Kakarotto's damn leer wasn't helping any.

"I just thought I would come and put my offer on the table, in case of a rainy day. You can mull it over as much as you like. It doesn't expire. Call upon me whenever you feel like it's time to go. I'll be waiting."

Edging back towards the corner of the room, leaving cool air behind him, Kakarotto straightened up his shirt and ran a hand through his hair.

Vejita could swear, for a moment, that the shadows in the corner had started moving.

Maybe that wasn't a problem he should be focusing on.

"Don't expect me anytime soon," he said, making it clear that the offer on the table would be sitting there for a long, long time.

No matter how alluring Kakarotto could make himself when he chose to.

As he stepped back into the swirling shadows, Kakarotto sent him another one of those dumb—albeit appealing—smiles, and said, "Noted. I hope you don't mind if I come to visit you from time to time, though." A wink. "Just to make you angry."

With that, he was gone.

And if it had been his intention to make Vejita angry, then he succeeded, and scarcely a second had passed in solitude before Vejita clenched his fists, stomped his foot, and gritted his teeth to keep himself from shrieking.

Instead, he whirled around and kicked the bed as hard as he could, regretting it a little when he busted his toe, and oh, God, he could have just lied down on the floor and pitched a fit.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had been so angry.

He wanted to stick his head out of the window and scream.

It was a nightmare he didn't even know he had—to be trapped in life by his court and then to know that even in death he would be cornered by some over-confident cur.

Goddammit.

Now his choices had suddenly dwindled down to two very distinct options.

And between death and marriage, the latter suddenly seemed far more appealing.

Goddammit.

_Goddammit_.

The folder that Kakarotto had pulled from his hands—where had it gone?

Oh, the son of a bitch had taken it with him.

Face red with fury and clenching his teeth so hard that he was certain he chipped one, he ripped open his door and went on the rampage.

The issue suddenly seemed as pressing to him as it always had been to his father.

Never had the halls seemed as long as they did then, as he looked over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn't being followed by shadows.

"Father!" he cried, as he ran down the halls, heart racing and head pounding, "Father! I've made up my mind! Oh, damn—Where _are _you? _Father_!"

Never there when he really wanted to see him.

He rounded a corner and came to a long stretch of darkness, where the lights had already been extinguished, and he could feel his feet root themselves to the ground as he stared at the shadows.

Even as a child he had not been afraid of the dark, and yet now suddenly crossing that void of shade was incredibly terrifying.

He stood there, eyes fixed on the blackness, and at every shift he could feel his heart race.

His mind was racing, too.

Contemplating, examining and analyzing.

Wait—

Kakarotto's words came back to him.

'_You have to give your consent for me to take you now.'_

Consent, he had said.

That was right. Vejita wasn't scheduled to die, and so Kakarotto couldn't take him unless he gave the say so.

So...

Nothing to fear.

Lifting up his chin as confidence overrode anxiety, he took a deep breath to steady himself, and then he took a step forward.

He crossed the shadows without incident, and Kakarotto did not come out to try and drag him in.

Couldn't.

Feeling a little more in control, Vejita allowed himself the faintest of smiles as he resumed the search for his suddenly elusive father.

Kakarotto had no power over him, no matter how cocky he was.

Vejita gave nothing up _that _easily.

Not even to Death himself. Even immortal deities would have to work their asses off to get a hold of _him_.

He wouldn't go down without a fight, and he was the one in control of this game.

So let Kakarotto come all he wanted.

He'd squirmed out of his clutches once, and he would do it again, and again, until he was ready to meet him on his own terms.

It wouldn't be anytime soon.

Tough luck.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** : As always, thanks for reading, and also for the kind words!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

His name was Gohan.

That was really all that Vejita had bothered to learn, if not half-heartedly, because everything else had seemed hardly consequential.

Especially since he considered this very ardently to be the worst day of his life.

The worst.

The stack of folders on his father's desk had piled up a good eight inches or so high in the past year or two, and most of them had a big, black X on the front.

Rejection.

The last folder that had been bestowed upon him may have been mugged by an eternal deity that had more brawn than brains, but his father had gotten so used to him shredding the folders to ribbons that he had started printing his own copies.

No harm, no foul.

Or, in this case, a stroke of terrible luck.

Because he really didn't want to do this.

Too late; whether or not he _wanted_ to didn't really matter anymore, because he was already standing next to his father in the throne room, dressed neatly in a blue suit that was extremely uncomfortable, and his father had put on every bit of traditional garb the kingdom had ever known.

Dressed to impress, as they said.

Feeling a bit plain next to his colorful father, he reached up to tug at the stifling collar, and could feel the urge to flee creeping up on him.

Had to get outta here—

"They're on their way, majesty."

"Thank you, Nappa."

Bowing to the king, Nappa turned a quick gaze to Vejita, and the sentiment on his face clearly said, 'Sorry about it.'

Damn it all to hell.

The king sucked in a great breath in an effort to steady himself, and Vejita suddenly felt a little chilly despite the warm sunlight coming in through the windows and the heat that came from the fireplaces.

His head was aching.

Lurching in his stomach.

Anxiety.

He spared a quick glance at the paper clenched in his clammy hand, and after a second of scrutiny he muttered, lowly, "Why _this _one? They're not much better off than we are from the looks of it."

He was grasping for straws now, anything to talk his father out of this even though he had agreed to it.

His father cleared his throat a little, and responded, "Well. They're all agricultural. I think with their natural resources and our industry we could become a force to be reckoned with, and then there's—"

"Don't bullshit me. I'm not your secretary."

His father narrowed his eyes in irritation, and finally said, rather sternly, "The richest one was the one that, you may _recall_, left the premises with a broken nose. Now we have to make do with whatever we can get a hold of."

Ah.

Oops.

"So," Vejita grumbled, as he straightened himself up, "I'll have to suffer this backwater farm boy so that we can usurp his lands at a later point in time, is that what you're saying?"

The king shifted in agitation, and then muttered, "Well, smiling wouldn't hurt, either."

Smiling was a step too far.

Not causing bodily harm was as nice as he had any intentions of getting.

They fell into silence, each of them fidgeting as their guests drew ever closer, and Vejita could feel his narrowed eyes shifting back and forth as he planned out his escape route.

He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

The word still left a foul taste in his mouth, despite all of the times it had been spoken about.

Marriage.

The clock was ticking.

Every minute seemed to drag by like a damn year.

Tick, tock.

His breathing began to quicken.

His father's brow was covered in a cold sweat, a thousand times more nervous than his son was, and right when the clattering of a crowd outside could be heard, the king's composure finally broke.

He swirled to Vejita, pale and anxious, and whispered, "Please, please, please, _please _don't make a scene, you know this is the last one, please don't scare him away like you did all the others—"

"_Alright_," Vejita finally conceded, his voice a hiss as he struggled with own apprehension and frustration, and his father turned back to the door with a swallow.

The last one.

Great.

Knowing his luck, this one would be worse than all of the others combined.

A great rush of defiance suddenly roared up against the helplessness.

Why was he doing this again?

This marriage and this suitor—Gohan or Johan or whatever the fuck his name was—could both go right to hell where they belonged, and he swore that one night he was just going to pack up his shit and run away for good, kingdom be damned, and if his father was that worried about the state of the empire then he could go and get married and fix it himself.

Feeling aggressive and trapped in a corner, he puffed out his chest and very nearly exploded at the thought of having to be polite to this man just because his kingdom needed lands and money.

A shadow fell on either corner of the room when the great doors finally pushed open, dark against the sunlight.

Shadows.

A shudder come over him then, and he remembered with an alarming jolt the reason why he was doing this in the first place.

Marriage or death.

Fuckin' Kakarotto, coming in and throwing him off balance.

Granted, he still could have run away and abandoned the marriage altogether, but that might have only made Kakarotto more aggressive, and God knew he couldn't stand to take any more of those hypnotic visits than was absolutely necessary.

Damn it all to _hell_—how did he find himself in these situations?

What the fuck was Kakarotto's problem anyway? He had been minding his own business. He hadn't been bothering anyone.

Why was Kakarotto so set on _him_?

The doors were open all the way now, and the sun put a glare on the two figures standing in the entrance.

Vejita ground his teeth together, and tucked his hands in his pockets to keep them from clenching into threatening fists.

He could practically hear his father's heart hammering away as he waited for an explosion.

It didn't come.

With Kakarotto's face in his head, Vejita took a great, deep breath, and managed to keep himself still and silent as their guests walked up the long corridor towards them.

When the doors shut and sunlight fled, Vejita could see them for the first time in detail.

Not quite what he had been imagining, he would admit.

He supposed he had been picturing some lean young man, tan and blond, dressed in overalls with hay sticking out of his hair and smelling like cows.

Gohan, or whatever, was not what he had expected.

Which was a very good thing, because if he _had _been Vejita was fairly certain that he would have been forced to take drastic measures to end this before it even began.

As it was, Gohan was pale and dark-haired, tall and well-built from what had surely been years of working outside, yet dressed neatly and cleanly, and he stood straight as an arrow and tucked one arm politely behind his back.

A gentleman, in every visible sense of the word, though younger than he had anticipated.

Still little more than a kid.

Gohan's mother was, like Vejita's father, the more eye-catching of the duo, dressed in red and hair styled meticulously, slender and pretty and looking very much like a queen.

Peacocks courting each other.

Gohan seemed as plain and anxious in her presence as Vejita did in his father's.

They stood at an impasse for a second, before the king held out his arms and said, loudly, "Welcome! I hope you had a pleasant journey."

The woman bowed her head quickly in respect, and gave a rather strained smile.

"Why, yes, we did, thank you."

Another silence, as each of them seemed as reluctant as the next, and then the woman suddenly reached out and pinched her son smartly in the side.

He jumped a little, and then gave a bow at the waist, saying, quickly and nervously, "Thank you for having us! It's—it's an honor to meet you, sir." Another swift pinch, this time on his arm, and he quickly corrected himself. "Erhm, _majesty_."

Vejita hid his scoff at the last second, turning it into a gentle cough.

Mama's boy.

The king suddenly reached out and clapped a heavy hand on Vejita's shoulder, saying, "Well, why don't we let them get to know each other a little? I'm sure there are many things you'd like to discuss."

The woman smiled, and nodded her head.

Vejita sent his father a foul look, and said, thinly, "I'm sure we can all join in the discussion—"

Fingers dug into his shoulder so painfully that he was sure they had actually broken the skin, and he fell silent, standing still as his father led the woman off to the side of the wide corridor and behind a door.

And then everything was just awkward.

Gohan slouched a little, out of his mother's presence, and blew air through his teeth as he tried to stifle what would have otherwise been an enormous sigh.

Tentative glancing, and then their eyes finally locked.

Silence, as Vejita tried to stare Gohan down, arms crossed above his chest and eyes a bit narrowed, but it was hardly an effort; ten seconds, perhaps, and then Gohan folded and averted his gaze.

What could really be said between them?

Aside from their apparently mutual displeasure with the entire situation.

Shuffled feet and nervous peeking, and then Gohan finally cleared his throat a little, and tried to make friendly conversation.

"So... This is a really nice place you have."

Uninterested, Vejita just said, "Indeed."

At the curt response, Gohan's brow fell a little, and he suddenly found his feet absolutely fascinating because he sure as hell stared at them for the next half-hour.

Vejita was glad.

Gohan was quiet and rather meek. The others that had come had been so full of themselves that it had been necessary to knock them down from their pedestals, but in this case all Vejita had to do was just be patient.

To be fair, patience was not something he was adept at.

Raising up his chin and trying to appear completely unapproachable, Vejita looked around the grand corridor a bit, and caught sight of Nappa hanging back in the corner, keeping an eye on things.

He was behind Johan—Gohan—and as soon as he managed to catch Vejita's attention, he raised up his hand and swept it forward, silently implying, 'Say something, why don't you?'

Vejita narrowed his eyes into slits, and tried to destroy Nappa from afar.

As if that big oaf knew anything about these matters.

At his glare, Nappa shook his head in exasperation, and resumed his hand gesturing, this time mouthing, 'Be nice!' and gesturing toward his face to encourage a smile.

Oh, _God_, just let him die now.

Er—

He cast his gaze to the shadows again, heart hammering away, and quickly retracted that sentiment.

Kakarotto was surely relying on his frustration with this whole process, and no doubt he was lurking somewhere out of sight at this very moment, watching and waiting, and if he saw that Vejita was foundering and cracking then surely he would try to come around again and reiterate his offer.

Had anything ever been so frustrating?

Swallowing a bit to gather himself, Vejita finally sent Nappa a dirty look, and then said to Gohan, "You were traveling a long time, weren't you? You can sit down."

Gohan jumped at the sound of his voice.

He twitched his head towards the chairs that lined the wall, and then he turned back to Vejita with a look of apprehension, as if he were somehow being teased.

Ah, hell—his mother had probably forbidden him from sitting until everyone else was.

He did look a little weary though, and, encouraged by the desire to defy Kakarotto, Vejita walked over to the chairs and sat himself down first.

Gohan broke into a wide smile then, in relief, and it was like he had been struck with lightening all of a sudden.

Familiarity, although placing it was a little harder.

Gohan reminded him of someone.

For the first time since the entire thing had begun, Vejita could feel his shoulders lowering a bit as tension started to relax.

Whatever Gohan was reminding him of was enough to put him at ease.

The seat next to him was quickly occupied, and he could see the way Gohan's stance slumped and he ducked his head down a little in apparent exhaustion.

Perhaps, like Vejita, he hadn't been sleeping much these past weeks.

Stress was a rather hard pillow, after all.

Raising up a shaking hand to his hair, Gohan finally let loose the sigh he had been pinning up, and spared a nervous glance in Nappa's general direction before looking back towards Vejita.

Another long, awkward silence, and it struck Vejita then the complete absurdity of the situation he had found himself in.

Agreeing to marry a complete stranger because otherwise he would be stalked by Death until he went insane.

He probably should have cried.

Instead, he threw back his head and burst into hysterical laughter.

He didn't really know why.

Maybe he was already going insane.

Gohan and Nappa stared at him as he cackled away to no one, and yet he couldn't seem to stop himself.

A long minute, as he lost control of himself in anxious giddiness and let his body do as it would, and then he finally regained control of his chest and lowered his head.

Silence.

When he regained his wind, he rested his hands in his lap, took a long, deep breath, and realized that he felt a hell of a lot better. Nothing was more effective than laughter at getting some of the stress out of his system.

They were still staring at him.

Nappa's brow was low and his lips were pursed, no doubt expecting something bad to come after that little outburst, but Gohan was smiling.

Was Kakarotto watching now?

Vejita hoped so.

_He _was in control, not Kakarotto.

Folding his hands and tossing them back behind his head, he sent Gohan a sharp look and said, breathlessly, "I'm going to assume that your mother is much more excited about this than you are."

"Oh, no— I, ah—"

Gohan, eyes wide and face rather tinted, fumbled a little, trying to politely deny the fact, but when Vejita made it obvious that he was not buying it, the act was dropped.

Placing his hands nervously on his knees, Gohan gave a sloppy smile, and uttered, "Yeah, I guess so. Honestly, I think I'm still kind of in shock. I wasn't really...expecting it."

Yeah, he knew that feeling.

To be going about your business one day and then have someone pop up and throw everything into a tailspin. Something he could certainly sympathize with, and so far Gohan hadn't rubbed him the wrong way, so maybe everything would work out in the end.

He could imagine this young, naïve Gohan waking up one normal morning, stretching and smiling in the face of a new day, only to have his mother barge into his room with excitement to tell him that he was more than likely going to be married in a few short weeks.

It was that little twinge of empathy, and _only_ that, that led him to actually open his mouth and speak to Gohan then, as they sat there together in the sunlight, waiting for their fates to be decided by others.

It began apparent after a few clumsy exchanges that Gohan may have been young and naïve, but he was smart, too.

A welcome change from the pompous, arrogant princes and princesses that had dropped by before.

They spoke of subjects beyond the realm of their respective kingdoms. The desire for new things, for exploring and adventure and learning about more than just diplomacy and politics. Two hours of conversing perhaps, as the king and queen spoke privately behind closed doors about things that hardly interested either of them.

Somehow, by the time the door clicked open again, that fact didn't bother him quite as much as it had in the morning.

Maybe Nappa had picked up on his improving mood before he had; when Vejita looked over and caught sight of him again, he was smiling.

Footsteps caught their attention, and when they looked over, the king and queen stood there, and while the queen looked pleased at the sight of them sitting next to each other, the king looked downright _grateful_.

Nearly ecstatic.

As if he had been expecting to come out into the middle of a war-zone like he had during every other visitation.

Not this time.

Vejita caught his father's gaze, and was quite keen to the expression on his face.

He lifted his chin and turned his head away, playing it off.

So he had actually had a conversation—so what?

Didn't mean he was any more satisfied with any of this.

Well.

Maybe Gohan wasn't as insufferable as he had anticipated.

To be fair.

The king, cast into a very good mood, extended his arm to the door and said, loudly, "Let's tour, shall we?"

Gohan's mother nodded her head, and once again Vejita found himself wandering about blindly to his father's whims.

Thankfully, Gohan was just interesting enough to keep his temper from getting the better of him as his father blabbered on to the queen about the kingdom that she would soon be joining with.

"Well," Gohan leaned in to whisper at one point, "Looks like we won't have to be doing much in the way of negotiating for a long time, what with _those _two around. Don't know about you, but I'll let them have it for as long as they want."

For a second there as he scoffed, Vejita was certain that he had almost cracked a smile.

Almost.

His irritation dulled, just a little, and he managed to make it through the rest of the visit without snapping someone's neck clean in two or committing a sudden act of regicide.

Success, for him.

His father was practically beaming by the time Gohan and his mother left the premises, and when they had waved their farewells and were gone and Vejita found himself back behind closed doors, the king threw his fist in the air with a cry of triumph.

"Finally!"

Before he could even move, Vejita was suddenly engulfed in his father's great arms and lifted straight off the floor.

"I'm so proud of you! You finally did it! You did so well! I mean, you could have actually smiled and pretended that you give a damn, but you didn't break his nose, either! I'm so, _so _proud of you! We're saved! Everything is going as it should be!"

Vejita pursed his lips irritably, and waited for his father to set him back down.

When his feet touched ground again, he straightened up his disheveled shirt and asked, a bit gruffly, "Well, how did _your _private little conversation go?"

The king rolled one shoulder, still high on success, and just said, "Oh, I got whipped pretty bad. She certainly knows what she's doing and what she wants."

With a scoff, Vejita turned his eyes briefly to the shadows in the corner.

Just in case.

"Why don't you just marry _her_, then, and save me all the trouble?"

"Don't think so. She'd eat me alive. As long as you can keep reign over him we should be able to carry on with business as usual."

Reign, huh? Didn't seem like too much of a hassle.

Gohan was pretty easy to push around from the looks of it. Good-natured and easy-going. Perfect for manipulating.

Perhaps this nightmare was really just more of a night-sweat.

No problem.

If Gohan was that easy to control all of the time, then this marriage was practically a dream come true. As long as he was the one in charge, then everything was smooth sailing.

That dumb smile of Gohan's reminded him of a dog, and also of Ka—

No.

No, no, no.

Not _him_.

Nothing was reminding him of _Kakarotto _except his own goddamn anxiety.

Now that he really thought about it, he supposed, there were a few similarities.

At least in appearance.

But that certainly hadn't been the reason he had chosen Gohan—ha, yeah right.

As his father had said, this was the last one. Didn't have much of a choice, did he?

Gohan having pitch-black hair and pale skin and big eyes and a strong jaw had been a complete coincidence.

...ugh, his forehead was aching now.

Damn.

This was the last thing he needed, to have that insufferable voice in the back of his head constantly reminding him of something he very much wanted to forget. That nagging in his mind telling him that Gohan was almost as attractive as Kakarotto and that surely it had forced a hand in his decision.

Ha. Kakarotto wasn't _that _attractive.

Granted, he _was_ certainly handsome...

Goddamn, now he was arguing with himself.

Insanity, alright.

All the same, his own sudden mental instability aside, everything was going according to plan.

He wished, suddenly, that Kakarotto was here again just so that he could point a finger in his face and say, 'See? I don't need you! I've got this all in the bag! I can do it myself.'

He didn't need Kakarotto. He didn't need anyone.

He could take care of everything on his own.

At last, his father could rest easy and know that his son wouldn't be the one to let the monarchy fall.

And Vejita felt pretty goddamn good about that.

Pretty damn good.

Now, if he could just get Kakarotto out of his head...

That would have been great.

How could anyone make a single appearance and leave such a memorable impression?

* * *

An unpleasant event, that was for sure.

Mortals had so many strange traditions, and their obsession with marriage was certainly one he would never really be able to comprehend.

Marriage. Betrothals. Borders, lands, titles, wealth and power.

What was the point?

None of it would matter anymore the second that _he _showed his face.

He had been watching for countless years as people scurried back and forth trying to get their affairs in order, seemingly unaware of how pointless it all was.

Pointless. Yeah. So why the hell was this bothering him so much all of a sudden?

Marriages were nothing. Just ceremonies with no eternal meaning.

He _hated _this agitation that had taken hold of him.

Couldn't shake it, no matter how hard he tried.

How bothersome.

He needed some cheering up.

As he did whenever he was in a foul mood or feeling a little strange, he let himself glide down to see his brother, who could usually bring his spirits up (even as he shoved other spirits down below).

The gates of Hell might have been the last thing many a mortal would like to see, but there was no place that Kakarotto would rather be in times like these.

The line was as long as it always was.

"—don't you know who I am?"

"Don't care."

"But I was the world champion of—"

"Don't care."

A careless flip of papers as Raditz ticked away with his pen.

"But I was a—"

Raditz glanced up in irritation, teeth visible as he was ready to snarl, and he might have gone off the handle on this way-ward soul in denial if Kakarotto hadn't appeared then beside of him in a stir of shadows.

His attention fled from his gate over to his brother, and Kakarotto hoped, above all else, that Raditz would spare him a little time.

He was too agitated to be alone at the moment.

"Say!" Raditz began, a smile on his face, "Didn't think I'd be seein' you again for a while. What's the occasion?"

He tucked his hands in his pockets, cast his eyes over to the never-ending line of disgruntled souls, and said, "Just thought I'd swing by and say hi."

And he _never _swung by just to say hi, so Raditz immediately narrowed his eyes in suspicion and curiosity, and tossed his duties aside in favor of nosiness.

As usual.

Abandoning the line and the bitching souls, Raditz wandered behind Kakarotto as he led him off to the high rocks above the river, and once Raditz realized that he was holding a piece of paper, the curiosity increased tenfold.

Every time he tried to look, however, he was thwarted.

"What's that?" Raditz vocally pressed, as he tried to look over his brother's shoulder.

Kakarotto snatched the paper away, and said, firmly, "Nothin'!"

He honestly didn't even know why he had still been clenching it in his hand when he had appeared.

Guess his mind had gotten a little foggy lately.

Keeping the paper pressed up against his chest, he tossed himself back up against the edge of the rock face, and heaved a sigh.

Raditz caught on to his strange mood as he settled in beside of him, and punched him gently in the arm in an attempt to stir him a little.

Didn't really work.

He still felt dazed.

"What's the matter with you, huh?" Raditz nagged, as he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, and he felt himself lifting a shoulder in a half-hearted effort to actually answer.

He was just having an off day, was all.

"Come on, tell me what's up."

"I'm fine."

Raditz didn't buy it, and maybe in some part of his mind, Kakarotto was glad.

Because he didn't feel fine.

Not at all.

Finally, he heaved a sigh of defeat, and glowered down at the paper in his hands, muttering, "He's gettin' married."

That paper.

A wedding invitation that he had swiped from the king's office.

Two professionally-drawn profiles stamped on expensive parchment, surrounded by curling, regal print. Dates and times and even a menu, meant for nothing less than royalty.

The union of two kingdoms.

Just looking at it made his hair bristle in agitation.

"Married?" Raditz repeated, sounding very much astounded.

It didn't take long to realize that Raditz was dumb-founded for very different reasons that he was.

For a long moment, Raditz stared at him with piercing eyes, and then he threw back his head and laughed.

A jolt of anger in his veins, that Raditz was casting aside his feelings so easily.

"What's so damn funny?"

His brother must have heard the threat in his voice, for he finally calmed himself and turned to Kakarotto with a wide smile.

"You say it like it's the end of the world! Come on, are you really even worrying about this? Are you _serious_?"

He could feel his eyes narrowing in silent danger, and Raditz shook his head with a weary sigh.

"So he's gettin' married, so what? Since when did some stupid little mortal tradition ever mean anything? It's not like his being married is gonna make any difference when he's dead, right? I mean, don't they say, ''Til death do us part'? You can't have him 'til he's dead anyway, so who cares? Let him get married, if he wants."

Huh.

Well...

When it was put like that, it certainly did sound a little less daunting.

And it was true—marriage was a bond that held up only in the world of the living.

In his world, it was nothing more than a word.

The paper was suddenly snatched from his hand.

"Is that him?" Raditz asked, as he eyeballed the invitation eagerly, drinking in something from the mortal world that he never got to see.

"Yeah."

Raditz' eyebrows shot up, and he gave a noise of appreciation.

"Better lookin' than I was imagining! I gotta give you credit, you picked a looker, didn't ya?"

An unintelligible grunt.

"And besides," Raditz added, as he peered down at the paper, "He chose someone that kind of looks like you. You don't think that's really a coincidence, do you? You must have made quite the impression."

He ripped the invitation from his brother and lifted it up to his face, studying the second specimen printed upon it, and tilted his head.

"You think he looks like me?"

"Sure does! Looks like he could be our long-lost brother." A nudge in his side, as Raditz added, coyly, "Sure you haven't been philandering with any other mortals recently? Looks like he could be your damn kid."

Ignoring quite neatly the tease, Kakarotto scrutinized the man, and then his brow began to lift.

"Say, he does, doesn't he?"

The similarities were obvious, he supposed, if one stared long enough.

Well, well, well.

Maybe that wasn't a coincidence after all.

He got then exactly what he had come here for; he suddenly felt a hell of a lot better.

Raditz always did have a way of cheering him up, it seemed.

"You're right. Maybe I was just overreacting."

"What else is new?" Raditz muttered under his breath, a bit exasperatedly.

Raditz' jabs couldn't bother him this time.

Vejita had picked someone that looked like him, and well, as they said, everything happened for a reason.

For all that stubborn resentment he had given, Vejita must have still been thinking about him.

Whether in a positive manner or not didn't really matter.

He'd come around.

"So," he began after a comfortable silence, casting his eyes over the rippling reflections cast onto the rocks by the river, "What should I do about it?"

Raditz sent him a quick look of annoyance, and snapped, "Are you just going to make me do everything for you? Because if I'm the one having to come up with all the good ideas, then I'm just gonna leave you here to watch the gate and _I'll _go fuck around in the world for a while."

A long silence, and he turned to Raditz with the beseeching, big-eyed look that he knew his brother would eventually fold under.

Raditz was harsh with him, but he never lasted long under _that _look.

Sucker.

A few moments, and then Raditz crumbled as he always did, and gave another sigh.

"Ah, hell. You're pathetic. Why don't you just do what you always do? Go do your job and be patient, and he'll die eventually."

Kakarotto shifted, restlessly.

"That's not—"

"Yeah, yeah," Raditz muttered, "No fun, I know." Another silence, as Raditz threw his arms behind his head and pushed out his lips thoughtfully. "Well, I'm sure they'll make a big party of it. Why don't you go gate-crashing? Been a long time since you've been to a wedding. Am I right or am I right?"

Was he ever.

The smile was already spreading over his face.

"Hey, why not? I think I will. After all, I do seem to have an invitation, don't I?"

Raditz spared a smile, but it quickly faded into a grimace. "Wish _I _could go," he grumbled under his breath, as he turned a weary gaze back over to the line at his gate, and Kakarotto felt a little twinge of guilt.

He was out meddling in the world as he felt fit while his brother was stuck in the same spot.

One of these days, he would have to take Raditz' spot for a little while so that he could go wreak havoc as he felt fit after millennia of boredom.

He supposed he owed it to Raditz for all of the advice and patience.

But not anytime soon.

At least not until all of this mess was over with.

He pushed off the rock, gripped the invitation, and said, "I'll make it up to you!" and then he vanished.

He had business to attend to at the moment.

After all, as Raditz had said, ''til death do us part' was only a factor while Vejita was alive.

Afterwards, it held no consequence.

Everything after death was his for the taking.

Patience.


End file.
